


A Stark’s Wolfhound

by kitkatkaylie



Series: A Lady and her Dog [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dark Sansa Stark, F/M, Past and threatened rape/non con, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, Violence, but like platonic - Freeform, minor pet play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28223703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: Sansa has her lapdog now, her precious Reek, but they are still at Ramsay’s mercy... for now
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy & Sansa Stark
Series: A Lady and her Dog [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2067540
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	A Stark’s Wolfhound

Theon let out a whimper from his cushion by the fire, a pained whimper that woke Sansa from her unsettled sleep.

It was the sort of whimper that let Sansa know that her pet was having a nightmare, his mind recreating some of the many horrors he had seen in his short life.

“Theon,” Sansa clambered out of her bed and crossed the cold flagstones to his cushion, “Theon, wake up.”

He flinched away from her voice, an unintentional flinch, an unconscious flinch. It was not a usual reaction from him, for Sansa’s pet seemed to know who it was around him even in his sleep. 

And Sansa was the only person in Winterfell he felt safe enough to relax around.

She leaned down a little and gently brushed a hand along the expanse of Theon’s spine. He always slept with his legs and arms curled up into his chest, his back left open so that he protected his vital organs. 

It was similar to how Sansa slept now, an unconscious attempt to protect themselves from the dangers of the world and the monsters that they had encountered.

“Theon.” She called again, and this time his eyes fluttered open and his whole body stiffened as he took a moment to remember where he was.

“M’lady?” He slurred sleepily once his eyes had caught sight of her face.

Sansa smiled gently and curled a hand around his cheek, “You were having a nightmare, sweetling.”

Theon’s face blanched and his eyes suddenly shot into wakefulness, “I’m sorry! Sorry my lady! Reek didn’t mean to be bad!”

“Hush.” Sansa chided, “You don’t need to apologise for a nightmare. And you don’t need to call yourself Reek either, not when it is just you and me.”

Theon swallowed and leaned into her touch, as though he was starved for the gentle warmth that Sansa was offering. (And he was.)

“Come.” She said, standing and brushing off her hands on her sleep shift, “You may sleep on my bed for the rest of the night.”

She gave him no choice but to follow her, obedience had been so beaten into him, even now that he had a kinder owner he still could not think of disobeying her.

He stumbled over the flagstones and then stood at the foot of her bed, fear in every inch of his bearing. There was longing in his gaze, for Sansa knew he had not been allowed near a bed for a long time, perhaps not since he had taken Winterfell and then been taken prisoner in turn. 

“Come.” She said again, as she patted the bed next to her once she had climbed back under the covers, “Up on the bed, there’s a good boy.”

He let out another whine, but this was one of excitement rather than fear as it had been before. But still he did not move an inch. 

“Theon.” She was slightly disappointed that she had to use a more forceful voice to get him to move, “I ordered you to get on the bed. You may sleep at my feet if you so desire, or curled up next to me. I have no preference.”

He finally moved then, a tentative hand reaching out first to touch the covers and then, with a look of absolute delight and reverence on his face, he climbed up.

Sansa was a little disappointed that he did not curl up next to her, that he chose her feet instead of cuddling up with her, but even getting him up at all was an achievement of sorts. He made a little ball at the end of the bed, one hand fisted in the coverlet, the other holding his own blanket close around his shoulders. 

It didn’t take long for the quiet huffing of his breaths, and the gentle warmth of his body against her feet to lull Sansa back into sleep, a sleep she hoped would be uninterrupted by the horrors that liked to stalk her own dreams.

* * *

It took every ounce of Sansa’s willpower not to scream when she awoke. Every ounce of her courage not to flinch at the wickedly smiling face of her husband.

“Well, well, well sweet Sansa.” He grinned, showing her all his teeth and flashing eyes filled with malice at her, “It seems you have invited an animal onto the furniture. Or perhaps it is not an animal you invited up, perhaps you are forsaking your marriage vows to me with a man no better than a dog.”

She would have to tread so very carefully, would have to make sure that her husband did not use this as an opportunity to bypass his father’s orders and punish Theon.

“What,” She said carefully, as she sat up in bed, “You mean Reek? My lapdog?”

Theon startled at the hateful name, his breath leaving him in a terrified gasp. Sansa knew he had likely been awake long before her, that he had probably been awake since Ramsay entered the chamber, too scared to move like a rabbit before a hunting dog.

“Yes,” Ramsay purred, “Reek. A dog who knows better than to sleep on the furniture or to touch what does not belong to him. Perhaps he is forgetting his place? Perhaps he thinks he is someone he isn’t?”

Theon shook even harder, and his voice came out in a high babbling, “No master! Reek is good! Reek is loyal! Reek knows his place!”

“Reek is upon the covers at my orders.” Sansa cut in, her eyes meeting Ramsay’s challengingly, “He is a good boy who obeys his  _ mistress  _ just as he is supposed to.”

Ramsay’s shoulders lifted and his chest puffed up, and Sansa just knew that whatever he was going to say would spell pain for them both, unless she managed to appease his sense of pride at his work first.

“Besides,” She continued, hating herself a little for every word, “You gelded him yourself. What could he possibly do to me without a cock?”

Theon flinched harshly at her words, but they had the intended effect on her husband. His face smoothed slightly and a small amount of the malice left his eyes, it was the face he put on when he was pleased.

“As you say so, my sweet wife. And neither of you are inventive enough to use anything else.” His voice was considering, almost crooning in a strange way, and the strangeness of it made another bolt of fear shoot down Sansa’s spine.

She smiled placidly, unwilling to let her husband know the fear he was causing her. “If you will excuse me, dear husband, I must get ready for the day ahead.”

It was a risk to say such a thing, for there was a chance that he would tell her there was no need, that he had plans for her that meant she would require no clothes. But it seemed her luck was with her, for all he did was take a step backwards and offer her a theatrical bow.

Sometimes Sansa could not help but think that it was a shame that Ramsay was such a cruel, unpleasant bastard who delighted in violence; for if he was not he would have likely got on quite well with Theon. They both had a flare for the dramatic. 

He was not going to leave the room for her to have a little privacy to dress, that would offer her far too much dignity. And Ramsay delighted in removing every shred of dignity that she could possibly scrounge up. 

Sansa slid out from under the covers, her head held high, she would not let her husband see how uncomfortable his gaze made her as she crossed the room in her stained nightgown.

All her nightgowns were stained, blood making the cream wool turn a rusty brown in places. 

The gown she planned on wearing was already upon the peg next to the dresser, it was one of her thicker ones, in a shade of blue that made her think of the quiet strength of her mother.

She took a steadying breath and thought of her mother’s kind hands threading through her hair. It made it easier to ignore the lust filled eyes upon her.

So focused was she on the image of her mother that she failed to realise that her husband had stepped closer to her.

“It’s tempting to throw you upon the bed again.” His hot, stinking breath caressed the back of her neck, “Renew those wounds upon your back so they become lovely and red again.”

Sansa clenched her jaw and turned to face him, ignoring the way his gaze fell upon the swell of her breasts.

“Of course,” He continued, his hand coming up to grab her breast in a painful grip, “I could always introduce some pretty marks to these instead. They would look even more fetching dripping beads of blood.”

Something in Sansa snapped. She was sick of being the victim, sick of having to take all the pain that her tormentors heaped upon her.

For the first time she realised quite how much larger than her husband she truly was. How small a man he was, with his veneer of malice taken away. 

“Take your hand off me.” She said quietly, her fury barely constrained.

“Or what, sweet Sansa?” Ramsay tightened his grip and leaned forwards so his lips were nearly brushing hers, “What will you do?”

Time seemed to go very slow, as Sansa did one of the bravest and stupidest things she had ever done.

It was the sort of thing that Arya would have done. The sort of thing that even  _ Robb _ might have done.

Sansa leaned forwards that last inch and bit Ramsay’s nose, hard enough that a spurt of blood filled her mouth. It was hot and salty and disgustingly satisfying.

Ramsay let go of her with a shout, and tried to jerk away, but her teeth held too strong a grip. The movement made another spurt of blood leave his nose, and Sansa could feel it drip down her chin.

Finally she released him, and grinned up with bloodstained teeth, feeling very much like a wolf.

Ramsay reared back from her properly, hatred and malice warring with a hint of fear on his face. He had obviously not been expecting her to snap. And if there was one thing that Sansa knew that Ramsay disliked it was thing happening that he had not planned for.

“You bitch!” He snarled, raising a hand as if to grab her, but Sansa was quicker. 

She was bigger than Ramsay, and able to use her strength against him in a way he was not expecting. She ignored who it was that she had grabbed hold of, and instead pictured that she was wrestling with a sibling again, using the sort of dirty tricks that allowed her to win against Robb or Arya on those rare occasions.

Her knee came up and slammed against her husband’s balls, even as one arm locked around his neck and the other twisted his wrist behind his back. He bucked and tried to get away from her, but Sansa leaned all her weight into him.

He might have had the strength, but Sansa know she was leaning on a pressure point, and that if he bucked too hard he would break his wrist, like Robb and Theon had done while mucking around in the training yard as boys.

“Don’t try it.” Sansa hissed, feeling a sudden burst of power.

A whimper had her gaze snap to Theon, who was cowering in the corner. He must have been terrified by the sight, in his little world Ramsay was all but a god like figure, one who could not be hurt by anyone.

It was a notion that Sansa was keen to disabuse.

“Theon, bring me the bedsheets.” She ordered as imperiously as she could, “Ramsay here is going to take a little cool down.”

Theon let out another whimper, but did as he was ordered. He was a good boy like that.

She pushed Ramsay into the hard wooden chair that sat by her dressing table, and used the sheet that Theon brought her to bind him there. He struggled against the bonds, but Sansa was not truly worried. She knew he had no knives in easy reach with which he might cut himself free, not when he was wearing such little attire. 

“Let me go now, little wife, and I might be lenient to you.” Ramsay purred, “I might even let you keep all your fingers!”

He was desperate, truly desperate and perhaps even scared if he was trying to bargain with her.

Sansa merely smiled at him, “What makes you think you are ever going to be released? You are entirely at my mercy now, dear husband.”

“You fucking bitch,” He spat, thrashing anew in his bonds, “I’m going to kill your little dog. I’m going to remove your limbs and leave you tied to the bed until you birth me a son and then I’ll feed you to my fucking dogs!”

Sansa wiped the spittle from her cheek and smiled once more, “You are going to regret that.”

She turned to Theon, who was watching her with rapture, his eyes wide as if he was seeing a new god. 

“Theon?” Sansa ordered, savouring the look of terror on her bound husband’s face, “Kill.”

And Theon, well trained dog that he was, did exactly as he was told. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @istaricelebelasse


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